


do your worst to me

by yeswayappianway



Series: all tied up with nowhere to go [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Winner's Room, Breathplay, M/M, Rope Bondage, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 21:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16291964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeswayappianway/pseuds/yeswayappianway
Summary: Claude’s idly sitting in the winner’s room, glancing around to see how it measures up. The arena is all shiny and new, and this room is no different. He’s not in any particular hurry—the team doesn’t fly home until tomorrow—and he’s opened a cabinet to poke through it when the door behind him opens. He doesn’t turn immediately, partly because he likes being an ass by not acknowledging people, and partly because that’s like… a lot of condoms, even for a winner’s room. He says as much out loud, expecting some kind of defensive answer. What he doesn’t expect is an almost familiar voice saying in French, “I don’t want to be here, hurry the fuck up.”Claude turns around in shock. Fleury is standing in the doorway, a blank expression on his face. Claude’s by no means an expert, but he’s never seen him so pointedly emotionless. “Who— what— why are you here?” he asks, still kind of reeling.





	do your worst to me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [free fall with me to open up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231234) by [dangercupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangercupcake/pseuds/dangercupcake). 



> title from Get Hurt, by The Gaslight Anthem, which, as a song, is definitely intended to be the angsty and emotional kind of hurting but always makes me think more along these lines
> 
> this is sort of a sequel to the lovely fic that dangercupcake wrote for me last year, except without the d/s au aspect, which kind of makes the reference to flower trusting claude not work, but you know what, just go with it. also, i think you'd be completely fine to read this without reading that one, but like, if you want to read that one, i highly recommend it
> 
> note: the breathplay is pretty minor, and almost accidental, but i thought it was probably worth it to warn for it in tags
> 
> this is un-betaed, so if you notice any typos, feel free to point them out to me!

Claude’s idly sitting in the winner’s room, glancing around to see how it measures up. The arena is all shiny and new, and this room is no different. The soft leather covered bench hasn’t been cracked and creased with use yet, and the metal handles and joints on everything gleam brightly. He’s not in any particular hurry—the team doesn’t fly home until tomorrow—and he’s opened a cabinet to poke through it when the door behind him opens. He doesn’t turn immediately, partly because he likes being an ass by not acknowledging people, and partly because that’s like… a lot of condoms, even for a winner’s room. He says as much out loud, expecting some kind of defensive answer. What he doesn’t expect is an almost familiar voice saying in French, “I don’t want to be here, hurry the fuck up.”

Claude turns around in shock. Fleury is standing in the doorway, a blank expression on his face. Claude’s by no means an expert, but he’s never seen him so pointedly emotionless. “Who— what— why are _you_ here?” he asks, still kind of reeling.

Fleury’s face doesn’t lose its forced stillness, but he answers curtly, still in French. “Pebbles wanted to come, but we agreed that he shouldn’t have to. I volunteered.”

Oh. If Claude’s being honest, he hasn’t thought much about Bellemare this season, but he’s glad that his new team cares about him. It’s always nice to hear. Still, it doesn’t really explain why Fleury would be the one to go in his place. Claude doesn’t say anything, just studies Fleury, who closes the door and then crosses his arms impatiently.

“Come on, then, let’s go. I was serious about you hurrying up,” Fleury says, in English this time. Claude still doesn’t know why he’s here, but he decides then that he doesn’t care. He’s never seen Fleury after a loss, the Penguins almost always sending Sid after losses to the Flyers, so he doesn’t know if the attitude is normal. It doesn’t matter.

“Oh? Were you? That’s interesting, because you don’t get to decide what happens here,” Claude says, walking toward him purposefully. Fleury stares him down. It’s not exactly true, of course. Either of them has the right to leave if they feel uncomfortable, so if Fleury really didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t have to be. There’s at least one or two guys on every team who’re always up for going to the winner, and if it’s really bad, there’s no punishment for a team not sending anyone. That’s why Claude feels fairly comfortable in trying to order him around. Also, he’s a little annoyed. Still, he sighs and stops, halfway across the room. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.”

Fleury actually glares now, his mouth turning down at the corners and his eyes narrowing. “Yes, of course, I’m fucking here, aren’t I?”

Calmly, Claude says, “That’s not what I asked. If you don’t want to do anything sexual, we won’t. If you don’t want to do anything physical, we won’t. If you just want to leave, I won’t stop you. But, if you don’t tell me no to any of those things, I’m going to assume you’re fine with them. So, one more time: are you okay with this?” Fleury looks furious for a few seconds, and then presses both hands into his eyes. He leaves them there as he answers.

“You’re really fucking going to make me say it? Fine, yes, I want to be here, I spend too much damn time thinking about the last time we played, and what it would be like if you were the one holding _me_ down, and how easy it was to trust you. Good enough?” He practically growls the last part, his hands no longer covering his eyes as he meets Claude’s gaze fiercely. Honestly, it’s a lot more than Claude expected, and he’s not really sure how to respond to it. It’s weirdly touching, in a way, and Claude is struck by how much he wants to give Fleury what he wants. He’s always hated him on the ice, because who wouldn’t, after playing him so much, but off it, Fleury’s always seemed like a good guy, and Claude hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he’d thought a lot about the last time they’d played, too. Sometimes, giving yourself to the winner was a relief, to just be able not to think for a while, and Claude wonders if Fleury feels the same way.

“Yep, plenty good enough. Let me know if I need to stop, okay?” Fleury nods once. “Now that we have that all settled—come here.” Claude doesn’t raise his voice, but something in Fleury’s posture changes, relaxes a little. He comes to stand in front of Claude in the middle of the room. Claude is near the end of the wide, leather-covered bench, and he points to the space just in front of it. “Kneel down.”

Almost immediately, Fleury folds to his knees before the bench. It’s the most fluid movement he’s made since coming to the winner’s room, directly contrasting the sharp way he’d walked in. He doesn’t look down, though, staring straight ahead with the same kind of anger and pride he’d come in with. Claude looks around, and goes over to a chair on the other side of the room. He moves the cushion cautiously, and then picks it up when it doesn’t seem to be attached to anything.

“Is there rope?” he asks, looking back at Fleury over his shoulder.

Fleury nods, and then, when there’s a pause, adds, “In the lower cabinet, left side.” Claude notices the lack of hesitation in his voice. Good.

Cushion and rope in hand, Claude crosses back to Fleury, who hasn’t moved at all since kneeling. “Here,” he says, and tosses the cushion in front of Fleury. “Don’t want you getting hurt and blaming it on me.” Fleury’s eyes narrow, and he flicks a glance up at Claude, but he grabs the cushion and, leaning back over his heels, slides it under his knees, settling back down.

Claude starts unwinding the rope from its neat bundle. It’s soft, almost smooth against his hands, and he remembers again how new this room must be. There’s a moment where he thinks about maybe being the first one to use it, and there’s something a little thrilling about that possibility. And speaking of firsts…

“Have you ever been tied up before?” he asks Fleury. Claude’s not sure what answer he wants, really.

Fleury nods, and Claude is standing behind his right shoulder, so he can’t see very well, but it looks like he rolls his eyes.

Well, if that’s how he’s going to be, Claude will have to do something about it. He doesn’t say anything else, but he leans down, and starts to arrange Fleury’s arms behind his back. Fleury stiffens, wrenches his arm out of Claude’s grip. He still doesn’t say anything, and Claude is fed up with the attitude.

Claude deliberately, slowly reaches for his arm again. He kneels down behind Fleury, pressing up against his back, and he can feel how tense he is. Claude says, “Usually, I’d think this kind of acting out meant someone didn’t want to be here. But you do. You told me you do, you want to be here, with me. And I believe you, but if you keep giving me this shit, I’ll just leave, and you can keep thinking about how good it would have been and you’ll never know.” He waits, listening to Fleury’s breathing stop and stutter. Good. “So, are you going to be good for me?” He can feel the slight shudder that runs through Fleury at that, and he smiles, knowing Fleury can’t see it.

“Yes,” Fleury breathes out, slipping back into French. He still feels tense, but he lets Claude pull his arm behind his back with no resistance, and it doesn’t take long for Claude to get both of Fleury's arms behind his back. Holding his arms with one hand, he grabs the end of the rope with the other, and ties off a loop around one side of his arms. Claude takes his time, making sure to wrap his arms securely, winding one loop around at a time. He doesn’t usually go for elaborate rope bondage, but the idea of taking his time and making Fleury wait feels _good_. Also, Claude’s enjoying getting his hands on him. For all his reluctance earlier, he’s been steady as a rock since then, and it’s hot being able to feel how much effort it’s taking him to stay so still.

Done with his arms, Claude ties a simple knot at the other end, and leaves the rest of the rope hanging down onto the floor. He stands up, and he swears Fleury gives out a little dissatisfied noise when they lose contact. Claude walks around in front of him and looks down at Fleury. He’s still looking directly in front of him, but he’s lost the angry glare. Claude takes a minute to appreciate the way Fleury’s shoulders are drawn back, pulling his shirt tighter across his chest. Interestingly, Fleury seems to relax the longer Claude looks at him, and Claude holds back a snicker. “You _would_ like being looked at, wouldn’t you? Should have guessed that from how you play.” Almost involuntarily, it comes out fond, and Claude doesn’t know where that came from. 

Fleury looks up at him, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, and starts to shrug, but he’s obviously forgotten the rope around his arms, because his shoulders abruptly stop after a second, and he lets out a short gasp. His mouth hangs slightly open, and his breathing comes a little quicker. Claude’s paying attention, keeping track of each little change, but he’s also enjoying getting to stare. Fleury’s pupils are huge, making his eyes even darker and bigger, and the sharp angles of his face are especially prominent from above. Fleury swallows under the scrutiny, and it gives Claude an idea.

“Do you trust me?” Claude asks. He knows the answer, Fleury had even said as much, but he wants to make sure, and he’s not sure how much of that is conscientiousness and how much is ego. Fleury nods, almost eagerly, and it turns out that admission just as unexpected the second time.

Walking back to pick up the free end of rope, Claude passes it around Fleury’s neck. He doesn’t pull it tight yet, but he ties a slipknot with the other end halfway between Fleury’s shoulders and where his arms are bound, and reaches around with his other hand to slide the end of the loop up Fleury’s neck to just under his chin. Fleury leans his head back as Claude goes, and Claude can feel Fleury’s pulse against his hand. Fleury swallows again. Neither of them say a word.

Claude pulls the rope tighter—he doesn’t want to make it hard for Fleury to breathe, he just wants his head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat. After he’s satisfied with the position of the rope, he winds the free end around the other line of rope, wrapping it into a thicker column and then tucking the end around Fleury’s arms. He wants to stand up and see what it looks like, if he got the effect he wants, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to break contact. Fleury is trembling minutely now, his muscles tensed and he’s so warm.

Claude stands up, walks a wide arc around Fleury, first one side, then the other, admiring the picture he makes. Fleury still hasn’t moved and Claude is a little in awe. None of the earlier anger and frustration is left, and when Claude runs a finger lightly down Fleury’s neck, Fleury barely reacts except to lean into it slightly. He looks amazing, the color standing out on his cheeks and the lean lines of his body highlighted by the pose Claude has put him in.

It’s only now that Claude realizes he’s hard in his pants. Fleury had agreed, but it seems wrong to ruin this with getting dicks involved. He ignores it. “Hey,” he says softly, more to see what Fleury will do that because he has any particular follow up. His eyes fly open from where they’d been dropping ever closer to closed, and the look in his eyes as he looks up at Claude—

 _Fuck_. Claude’s never going to get this sight out of his head. “You look fucking beautiful,” slips out of Claude’s mouth in French before he can think about it, and Fleury’s eyes go even wider, and his chin comes down a little, pulling against the rope, and he gasps ever so slightly. Claude reaches for him, trying to help him breathe, when he realizes that Fleury’s eyes have sunk to half closed again and he looks incredibly turned on. 

“You like that?” Claude rasps. “Fuck, that’s hot.” That’s when he notices that Fleury is also hard. Claude swallows, drying to bring moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth. “You’re so good for me, you look so good like this,” he starts, mostly just to have something else to focus on. Fleury tips his head back up, though, back to where Claude had put it, and Claude’s either got to stop this now, or go a lot further. Like a minute ago, though, it seems wrong to introduce anything else at this point. Claude keeps up the praise in French for a minute, more about how good Fleury looks, how well he’s behaving for him.

When he doesn’t think he can just keep looking any longer, Claude goes to his knees behind Fleury again, and starts the process of untying the rope. He unwraps the length running up Fleury’s back, unties the knot and slips the loop back over his head. Fleury takes several deep breaths, his head falling forward gently. Claude can’t help himself, and he presses a quick kiss to the side of Fleury’s neck where there’s a slight rope pattern impressed on his skin. Claude goes back to untying him, not saying anything, and gets the rope off his arms relatively quickly.

He throws the rope over onto one of the counters, and offers Fleury a hand to stand up. “You okay?” Claude asks, trying to sound normal as Fleury grabs his hand, and yanks himself off the ground. It’s a little awkward, and Claude almost smiles to see it. It makes this seem more real.

Fleury opens his mouth but nothing comes out at first, until he clears his throat and says, roughly, “Yeah.” He starts flexing his fingers, rolling out his wrists, and Claude rolls his eyes.

“I’m not just going to leave you here like this. I take care of people I put down, I’m not that kind of asshole. Is there a shower?” Claude honestly isn’t thinking of anything other than making sure Fleury gets to wash off before going home, but the look in Fleury’s eyes, the quick glance down to where Claude is definitely still visibly hard gives him other ideas. Claude swallows again.

“Yes, there’s one attached to this room,” Fleury says, and his voice still isn’t quite back to normal. It’s doing things for Claude.

He ignores that, and walks over. “Let me help,” he says, and starts rubbing up and down Fleury’s arms, trying to help him loosen back up. Claude doesn’t keep at it very long—he’s a little afraid if he keeps going, he’ll end up giving Fleury a whole back rub, which would probably be embarrassing.

Fleury grunts, rolling his shoulders. “So, shower?” he asks, a glint in his eyes. Claude looks back, trying to figure out what’s going on here. He doesn’t find anything in Fleury’s expression beyond humor and want.

Claude nods. “Lead the way.” Fleury walks across the room, over to the door that Claude had assumed led to a closet. When Fleury opens it, he can see that it’s a bathroom, with half the room taken up by a shower that seems to have been transplanted from the locker room. Which, Claude supposes, it basically has been.

They get into the bathroom, and it’s a little bit of a tight fit with the two of them trying to strip down before getting into the shower, but Claude doesn’t mind. He sneaks a few glances at Fleury, and then realizes there’s no reason to be stealthy about it. Fleury preens when Claude stares openly, and looks him up and down very thoroughly.

This is—really not how Claude thought his night would go.

“Do you do that a lot?” Fleury asks.

Claude gives him a look. “Win? I mean, we try.”

Fleury looks exasperated, until he sees Claude’s smirk. He whips his shirt at Claude. “Asshole. No, I meant, tie people up. You’re good at it.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Claude says, a little bewildered. It’s not the kind of thing he often gets compliments on. “Not a whole lot, but I like it, so when I get the chance, I try to.” Claude’s completely naked now, so he steps into the shower and pointing the showerhead at the wall, turns it on. “Why were you so pissy when you got here?”

“Oh. Ah. I— I didn’t really want to be here? Or, I guess, I didn’t want to want to be here. Also,” and Fleury looks sheepish, which really isn’t a look Claude is used to seeing on his face. “You’re going to hate this, but it kind of still feels like you’re Sid’s.” 

He’s right, Claude does hate it a little, but he also appreciates the confirmation of something he’d wondered for years. Claude just shrugs. “Glad you did come, I enjoyed it. Thanks, Fleury.” Claude feels grossly awkward saying that, but he also feels like he owes Fleury honesty. He tests the water. It feels warm, so he moves the showerhead back and steps into it.

Fleury steps in next to him, and says, “You know, you can call me Flower. Or Marc, if you want,” and for all that it sounds light and unimportant, Claude gets the sense that it’s a big deal.

“I’ll stick with Flower, then. It suits you,” Claude says uncomfortably, but it’s true. “And you can call me Claude.”

“Alright, Claude,” and damn, it’s nice to hear his name pronounced properly, “but you know, you missed something.”

Claude moves out of the spray so Flower can move into it, and he asks, “What do you mean?”

Flower smirks at him, pushing his hair out of his face as he turns to look at Claude. “I said I wanted you to hold me down, and you didn’t. I’m disappointed,” he says, playfully.

“I could do it now, if you really wanted,” Claude suggests, trying to keep his voice even. It’s hard. He’s into this, into Flower, far more than he thought he would be even ten minutes ago. Seeing him naked with water running down his body is definitely making things worse. Better. It’s making them _more_ , anyway.

Flower looks at him, narrowing his eyes slightly. Then he shakes his head. “Maybe next time.”

Raising an eyebrow, Claude says, “Already assuming there will be a next time? You move fast.” Flower just shrugs. “Alright, if I’m not holding you down, what do you want?”

“You can decide,” Flower says casually, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever—” Claude sputters for a second, getting water in his mouth. “Yeah, okay, sure. Come here.”

It only takes Flower a step to be right in front of Claude, looking down at him slightly. Claude reaches up to slip his hand into the back of Flower’s hair and bring him down for a kiss. It’s warm and wet, even beyond the fact that they’re both in a shower, and Claude loses himself in it for a bit. When he pulls back, he runs his other hand down Flower’s side.

“So, what do you want?” Flower asks, but before he can make any assumptions, Claude pulls him back in, backing them up so he can lean against one of the shower walls. They’re new, they can’t be that dirty yet, Claude rationalizes.

“Just come here,” he says, and brings them in close enough that they’re touching all over, and Claude’s cock is pressed up against Flower’s body.

“That’s it?” Flower says, and he sounds almost disappointed.

“Next time, you come up with something more fun,” Claude suggests. “I’m easy.”

They rock against each other, Claude’s hands roaming all over Flower, and Flower leaning down to mouth at his neck. Claude wonders if he’s going to have a mark.

It doesn’t take them long to come, as worked up as they already were, and they lean there panting for a bit afterwards.

Claude wants to move before Flower does, so he pushes at him, and they both stumble back into the spray of the shower. They help each other wash off, Flower running his fingers through Claude’s hair and Claude rubbing soap all over him, taking extra care with his shoulders and arms.

As Claude turns the water off, and Flower snags towels from a cabinet across the room, Flower says, “So, you said next time.”

“So did you,” points out Claude. He’s not sure where this conversation is going, but at this point, he’s pretty mellow. Good orgasms and showers will do that to him.

“Right,” says Flower. “How, ah, soon were you thinking?” He doesn’t quite make eye contact with Claude, focusing on putting his clothes back on, and Claude wonders if he’s nervous.

“We don’t fly out until the morning, and I don’t have a roommate. Does that answer your question?” Claude says, smiling. It’s probably a bad idea, because it seems like one on principle, but he honestly can’t think of any actual reason why. It’s not like it’ll be the stupidest thing he’s ever done, Claude thinks as he pulls his pants back on.

Flower grins. “Absolutely. Meet outside?” Teams usually let anyone going to the winner’s room find their way back to the hotel whenever they want on their own, so Claude shouldn’t have to worry about his teammates finding out—well, not now anyway.

“Sounds good,” Claude agrees. Fleury turns to head out, and then very quickly, leans back in for another kiss. “See you in a few minutes!” he calls cheerily as he walks out the door and down the hallway.

Claude shakes his head. Definitely not how he thought this night would go, but definitely worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> i started this... back in february, the night the knights lost to the flyers in vegas. i picked it back up last week, when vegas lost their home opener to the flyers, and finished it tonight, after ~~marc-andre fleury~~ vegas beat the flyers in philly and flower made [this ridiculous save](https://twitter.com/RP_Quigs/status/1051177651338018816) on claude, which led to claude giving him [this look](https://66.media.tumblr.com/784098fe0556eb8845be80c4566daf27/tumblr_pgjx6bS5rG1qh5f04o4_540.gif) ([gif from this post](http://samgirard.tumblr.com/post/179018888782/rex-quondam-rexque-futurum-flower-does-what-he)). i knew i had to finish this after That Happened.
> 
> come talk to me about rare pairs involving asshole french-canadians, or other things, at steelinstories on twitter or topcopbobrovsky on tumblr


End file.
